Rain Down On Me
by Dominatrice
Summary: Hermione was almost to the door when his voice, cracked and heavy with grief, stopped her in her tracks. “Don’t go.” -- Follows Canon excuding the epilogue, some hint of romance at the very end.


–_So tell me where you are,  
Tell me how you feel.  
Tell me what you need,  
Just tell me how you feel.  
And let it all just rain on me,  
Let it all just rain on me,  
Let it all just rain on me–_

'Rain Down On Me' – Kane

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

George stared blankly ahead of him, not really seeing the dirty white of the walls or the shelves, sagging under the weight of countless unread books. The side of his head was throbbing from where he'd lost his ear only days before, despite the Healers best spells. It was a little strange, to think he'd have only a smooth expanse of skin where he used to have an ear. _If Fred were here…_ George gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as new tears threatened to spill. If Fred were there he'd be laughing and calling him a fucking pansy, that's what.

But if Fred were here, he thought, he wouldn't be feeling like this in the first place. Involuntarily, George's eyes flicked to his right side where he still expected Fred to be, still feeling a small flash of surprise when he wasn't.

With a small start George realised that his hand was hurting. Glancing down he noticed that at some point he'd started to clutch Fred's wand in a white-knuckled grip, the dark wood digging unfeelingly into his flesh. Fresh moisture gathered at the corners of his sore eyes as he contemplated the wand; it was identical to his own, right down to the Unicorn tail hair core, from the same stallion.

A heart wrenching sob breaking out of him at last George rocked forwards in his chair, curling up into himself as much as he could without breaking the two wands clutched in his hands.

He was _alone_.

Raw anguish tore through him, red hot fingers clutching at his wildly beating heart, squeezing the life out of him with singular cruelty. Distantly, as though through thick walls, he could hear someone gasping and grinding their teeth together.

"George?"

He froze, he was no longer alone in his bubble of solitude and grief, no longer free to sob and scream as he wished; an unexplainable feeling of rage rushed through him.

"_What!?"_ he snarled, fingers curling ever tighter around the twin wands… _twin, twin, twin_… why did the wands get to stay together? Why did that miserable stick survive the falling wall, but not his robust, spirited brother?

Glaring up at the intruder through heavy eyes, George opened his mouth to tell whichever family member it was to _fuck off_, only to pause, lost for words.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

Hermione hovered outside the Library doors, she was desperate to escape into the familiar comfort of quiet and books, yet she was sure that she could hear someone in there. She wasn't sure what it was that was making her pause so; it wasn't really that unusual to find someone else seeking sanctuary in the quiet room, but this felt different.

Hesitantly, feeling as though she were snooping, Hermione inched closer to the door, pressing her ear softly to the dark wood. It took a few moments before Hermione realised that the strange sound she head heard before, was the sound of somebody sobbing. Biting her lip she let her fingers rest uncertainly on the door knob, the desire to enter her haven warring with her deep seated respect for privacy.

Eventually, Hermione's intense yearning to escape to the one place Ron and Harry would not follow her won out. With a small frown, she turned the handle. She was just being silly, she was sure, if there _was_ someone crying she would simply grab a book and run. Right.

Taking a firm grip on the door handle Hermione pushed it down slowly, wincing as the rusty hinges let out an indignant squeak. Huffing quietly she stuck her head in a small way; peering with narrowed eyed through the semi-darkness and the floating dust motes that danced in the muted rays of sunlight. What she saw next gave Hermione pause, unconsciously opening the door further as her eyes widened.

"George?" she gasped, eyes taking in his rumpled clothes and heaving shoulders. With a rush of air his head flew up.

"_What!?"_ he snarled, bloodshot eyes glaring up at her through a shock of red hair. Hermione froze, one hand still gripping the door handle as though it were a lifeline.

He blinked at her, surprise and uncertainty flitting across his face. A mirror to her own features, she supposed. With a small start Hermione realised that she had been stood there like an idiot, just staring at the dishevelled form of the grieving twin. _No_, she thought with an aching sadness that surprised her, _no longer a twin_.

"I'm so sorry to have intruded," she began to say, a distant part of her aware that she was embarking on one of her nervous rambles, "but I just wanted a book you see, and the boys - Harry and Ron that is – just _won't_ give me a moments peace! And I rather thought that I might escape here, but I can see that you're busy, so if you don't mind I'll just grab a book and then I'll be on my way. I _am_ sorry to have disturbed you."

George stared at her with an unreadable expression on his face for few moments, and then turned his head away as he roughly wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"Whatever. Just close the door would you? I don't think I can handle Mum finding me right now." Hermione started with surprise, she'd fully expected either a curt nod or even an angry dismissal. She couldn't have blamed him, losing a family member was horrific, but to lose a twin... she couldn't begin to imagine the pain he must be suffering.

Gently pushing the door closed, Hermione crossed over to the shelves that she knew held books containing information on Wizardry in the 16th Century. After the stress of the battle and the events leading up to it, she just wished to unwind and bury herself in history. Skimming her fingers across the titles, she was uncomfortably aware of the huddled form of George somewhere behind her. Should she offer words of solace, sorrow for his loss? But she had never been good at comforting others; she was awkward at the best of times and assumed that everyone else was like herself, preferring to deal with such emotions quietly and away from the scrutiny of others.

But would leaving without saying anything be callous? Hermione let out a short huff of irritation, what was all her so called intelligence good for if she could not make the simplest of decisions? Finally finding the title she wanted, she withdrew the book with a sigh of relief. Gently fingering the well worn corners of the cover, Hermione breathed in the smell of the old pages with a small smile. It was like breathing in the scent of home.

Abruptly, Hermione realised that she was still intruding on George and he was probably waiting for her to leave. Calling herself a few choice names under her breath she clutched the book to her chest and turned to face the older boy.

Awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Hermione opened her mouth to say at the very least a final apology for interrupting him, but the words died half formed on her tongue. She hadn't truly noticed before, but he didn't just look dishevelled, he looked ill. His normally slightly rounded features were gaunt, the skin pale and sickly looking in the few rays of sunlight that slipped past the heavy drapes. He was hunched over; his hands gripping what seemed like two wands. Two wands... she guessed the other might be Fred's. Her stomach tightened painfully as a strange tightness caught her throat. No wonder he wasn't coping well, he had effectively lost half of himself.

Hermione wasn't aware that she had crossed over to him until she was laying the book gently on the table. She hesitated for a second, unsure what she hoped to accomplish, but decided to stop over thinking the situation for once in her life and simply go with it.

"George," she murmured, crouching down next to his chair so that they were at eye level, "I know you don't want to talk to anyone right now, and I _do_ understand that, but... I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss, and that if I can do anything for you, you're just to tell me."

Even as the words left her mouth, Hermione grimaced. How many people had probably said the exact same thing to him? It was such a generic response to another's grief. Why couldn't she have just left quietly, like he probably wanted her to? Feeling the familiar flush of embarrassment sweep across her cheekbones she started to stand, grabbing her book.

"I'm sorry; it wasn't my place to say anything. I'll leave you in peace now."

Hermione was almost to the door when his voice, cracked and heavy with grief, stopped her in her tracks.

"Don't go."

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

"Don't go."

George didn't know what had possessed him to say that, he truly didn't. The whole reason he'd been holed up in the library was to escape people, the reason he'd snapped when she'd opened the door was in hopes to drive off anyone with ideas to cheer him up.

And yet, her awkward sympathy and genuine apologies for disturbing him had strangely made him feel better. The biting fingers in his chest had loosened just a fraction when she'd expressed in her quiet, articulate voice how sorry she was for him. It occurred to him, as such things do when one is not expecting them to, that she was the only person so far who had acknowledged what _he_ wanted. She'd been prepared to honour his wishes and leave him alone, without a word of protest or guarantees that coming down for dinner with everyone would make him feel better.

George shifted in his chair and cleared his suddenly dry throat; it seemed that all of the moisture in his body had made its way out through his eyes. He glanced up at her out of the corner of his eye; she was half turned towards him, a look of surprise still evident in her slightly parted lips and raised eyebrows. Unable to kick start his brain into forming any further sentences, George settled for kicking the chair next to him out from under the table with his foot.

She seemed to get the message readily enough for she turned towards him, eyes darting to his face once more as she moved towards the chair. He took the moment to study her, for it distracted him from the thoughts that had been torturing him ever since the battle. He'd never taken much notice of her, priggish bookworm that he'd assumed her to be, and so had missed the transformation that had turned her from a girl into a young woman. She walked with a quiet grace that he had never imagined he would associate with her; her back upright and her shoulders straight. Her hair would never be tamed, although it had a lost a little of his frizz, and would never fall in those smooth curls that girls seemed to favour. It had a slightly wild look to it, an image at odds with the meticulous and proper personality that was Hermione Granger. She was neither willowy nor curvaceous, but could be placed perhaps in the pleasant middle of the two. Her eyes were dark and couldn't claim to be large, but were hardly small either. She _was_ in possession of rather high cheekbones that George had never noticed before, but he could see now that she had lost some of the puppy fat off her face that had definitely been there the last time he had really looked at her.

All in all, she could have been described as average by many men, but George found the image she presented a comforting one. He found extremely beautiful women a little intimidating, he himself was hardly an Adonis, and had relied on the amusing banter between himself and Fred to pull off an air of confidence. But with Hermione he was relieved to note that in this, at least, he did not feel the absence of his brother as fully.

George was disrupted from his musings by Hermione's foot brushing his calf as she crossed her legs. She murmured a quick word of apology as she shifted in her chair, tucking her hair neatly behind her ear on one side. He raised a hand to touch were his ear was missing, it must look hideous. With a small sound of disapproval she caught his hand before he could touch it.

"You should leave it alone, you don't want to disturb the healing skin," she said, the lecturing tone in her voice failing to annoy him as it once had. Once satisfied that he wasn't going to persist, she let his hand drop. They sat in silence, neither of them quite looking at the other. George immediately regretted asking her to stay, she probably just wanted to read her book.

"You can go you –" he started to say as she said; "You can tell me –". They both stopped and smiled slightly; George motioned for her to continue.

"You can tell me whatever you want, you know," she said, the cautious tone in her voice matching the way she peered up at him through her eyes, "it won't go any further than me."

George sat quietly for a moment, considering her offer. He had been so caught up in his anger and grief that the very thought of trying to explain how he felt to anyone had seemed an impossible, daunting task. He had sent away his parents and siblings, for how could they understand? They too dealt with their grief for Fred, but they couldn't really comprehend how he felt. They thought it was the same, for a family member was a family member, right? But George couldn't explain to them that that wasn't the case. He did not want them to think he belittled their grief, or that he thought his own was greater, but it was _different_.

And so, with no small amount of trepidation, George decided to tell Hermione everything. Hermione, who up until this day he had never considered as anyone other than Ron's friend, the female version of Percy, even. Certainly he had never thought to consider her as a confidant. But, everyone knew she was the smartest Witch of this age. Perhaps she could conjure up some great wisdom to help him. Perhaps.

She must have taken his initial silence in the negative, for she flushed and muttered something to herself about overstepping the mark _again_.

"What no one understands, Hermione," he said, deciding to start before he could chicken out, "is that being a twin affects... everything."

She frowned slightly and leant back in her chair, her lips slightly pursed as she looked at him. Without any warning she produced her wand and conjured up a glass of water, floating it over to him. George accepted it gratefully, he hadn't realised how thirsty he was until he had drained the cup dry. Setting the glass down he realised that she had also produced two cups and a pot of tea, along with a pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar. The smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of his lips; how incredibly British of her.

After they were both settled in their chairs with their tea, she motioned for him to continue. Without knowing why exactly, George started from the beginning. As he started to talk she quietly murmured a spell to start a small fire in the fireplace and a further one to part the drapes. The effect was instantaneous. The gentle afternoon sunlight now streaming unhindered through the windows made him feel a little fresher, the heat from the fireplace warming him through when he hadn't even realised how cold he'd been. He hadn't felt so together since before the battle.

As he told her of his childhood with Fred he became less stilted, the memories causing him both joy and pain as he recalled the various pranks they had pulled and the consequences after. When he finished the first cup of tea, Hermione was there straight away, quietly filling his cup without interrupting him. He noted absently at one point that she took neither milk nor sugar.

George wasn't sure how much time had passed as he talked, they could have been there hours. Hermione never interrupted him, which he had thought she might at first, and would only offer the occasional nod of understanding, or grimace of sympathy. As he drew to the end of telling her what it had been like, growing up with a twin, he paused, unsure how to articulate how he currently felt.

"At first, I just couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it, really," he confessed, circling the rim of his cup with a calloused finger, "even though I knew that no one could have survived being under that wall."

Hermione leant forward slightly, silently encouraging him to continue.

"At the end, when I was holding his body," he said, voice catching on the building tears, "I couldn't think for how much it hurt. It really felt like someone had come and ripped out half of me, like I had a big gaping, bloody hole in my chest somehow." George squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears not to come again. "And then, I found his wand, under the rubble, and I was so _angry_. I can't believe that his _wand_ could escape unharmed, and yet Fred..."

George couldn't continue. It occurred to him that he hadn't once said it aloud, or even to himself, that his brother was...

"Dead," he whispered, feeling the first few tears trickle down his face, "he's really _dead_."

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

"Dead," he whispered, and Hermione felt overwhelming sorrow for the heartbroken boy as tears started to slip down his face, "he's really _dead_."

George's shoulders started to shake, and she could see that he was desperately trying to regain some control of himself. Before she could question herself, Hermione stood up and closed the small distance between their chairs. Perching on the arm of his chair she gently gathered his head and shoulders into her arms and drew him to her.

"It's not okay George," she whispered, tears of her own trembling in the corners of her eyes, "and it's not going to be okay for a long time. But you have people – family and friends – who love you, and will _always _be there for you. You're not alone, you're not"

George nodded against her shoulder, sobbing into the soft material of her shirt. Hermione closed her eyes and laid her cheek against the top of his head, unconsciously rocking him gently as he shook against her. She was surprised at herself, she had never offered anyone such a level of consolation before, and yet she did not feel as though she was pressing her comfort onto him. He had seemed to find talking to her helpful, and she knew he was not the kind of person to talk out of politeness. Besides, it had been he who had asked her to stay. Trying not to dwell on what that could mean as was her want, Hermione tried to focus on the matter at hand.

George's sobs had abated slightly, and she realised that he was muttering "_why, why, why?_" into her shoulder.

"No one knows why, George," she said softly, "but the one thing I _do_ know, is that you don't have to do this alone. I know your family can't understand how _you_ feel, no one can, but they need you just as much as you need them. You can get through this together."

"How?" he growled, the low vibrations of his voice easily felt through her shirt.

"By remembering him, by celebrating his life together and never letting anyone forget what a fun, loyal, brave person he was."

George pulled back slightly, although he didn't release his grip on her shirt.

"I wish it had been me," he admitted, refusing to look her in the eyes, "you're right, Fred was the funny, brave one. I'm nothing without him, I'm –"

"Oh no you don't!" Hermione said, cutting him off with a firm voice and gentle shake of the shoulders, "there is nothing wrong with grieving, but I will _not_ let you fall into the trap of self pity George Weasley!"

George looked up with a start, and she took the opportunity to catch his eyes and hold his gaze.

"You and Fred were a great team, it's true, but you each had your own traits that made it work. You're still a fantastic person George; you're still funny and brave. It was never Fred that made you those things, it was _you_."

George looked away, still looking unconvinced and Hermione shook him again, unwilling to let this one go.

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy, it's not. In fact, learning to live without him is probably going to be one of the hardest things you're ever going to do in this life." Well, she'd never been very good at sugar coating things. "But you're not going to even begin to manage until you let go of this ridiculous notion that 'it should have been you'."

Hermione took her hands from his shoulders and placed them on the sides of his face, gently forcing him to look at her once more.

"If you won't do it for yourself, do it for him. Try and fulfil the dreams you shared," she encouraged, hesitating before saying, "I didn't know Fred as well as I would have, but I think I knew him well enough to say that it is what he would have wanted."

George remained silent for a few moments, and Hermione cursed herself yet again for going too far.

"Hermione Granger using emotional blackmail, who'd of thought?" he said with one of his trademark grins. It was a shadow of its normal self, and his eyes only showed a little of their spark, but it was a vast improvement from the state he had been in earlier.

"Well," she said, taking advantage of his light response by removing her hands from his face, "one does what one must."

"I suppose you think I should come down for dinner as well," he said with a small scowl, the tear tracks on his face still a stark reminder of the grief that lay so near the surface. Hermione pressed her lips together in thought for a second, considering what to say. She didn't want to set him off whilst he was still so raw.

"Well," she began, choosing her words carefully, "I think that it would certainly help you. But, I think you should only come down when you're ready, and not before."

George nodded thoughtfully, and settled back in his chair, his hand drifting up towards his missing ear once more. Swatting his hand back down Hermione stood, resisting the urge to stretch her aching muscles. She felt as though she'd run a marathon, heavens knew how George himself felt.

"First things first, however," she stated, banishing the fire and the remains of their tea with a deft flick of her wand, "I think you should shower and change. It'll do you the world of good."

He nodded and pushed himself out of the chair, handing her the book she had forgotten over the course of their talk. Smiling her thanks, Hermione took the offered tome and started for the door.

"Hermione," he called, and she half turned, much as she had when he'd so brokenly asked her not to go. "Thank you, for everything. For listening, and for not telling me it'll be okay."

Hermione felt the all too familiar flush sweep across her cheeks, and nodded.

"It was my pleasure George, my pleasure."

Throwing him one more smile, Hermione opened the door and slipped out before he could say anything else. She felt emotionally drained and felt that a good nap was very much in order.

And so, it was not at dinner that night that George made an appearance, but at breakfast the next morning. Hermione noted with pleasure that he had indeed showered and changed, and looked infinitely better for it. The Weasley's were surprised, but blessedly kept any and all remarks to themselves. George had sat opposite Hermione, and she saw that he was tense, picking at his food. Seeking out his foot under the table, she gave it a small press with her own. His eyes flew to hers, and she offered a small, encouraging smile in return. He smiled back and turned back to his eggs with a little more vigour, some of the food actually making its way to his mouth as opposed to doing ever increasing laps around his plate.

As Hermione left the breakfast room and started for the stairs, a hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks. Turning, she saw that it was George. She smiled, twisting to face him fully.

"I didn't expect to see you down here so soon, well done." He gave a small, half grin and ran a hand through his perpetually tussled hair.

"I didn't get to thank you properly yesterday, you darted off so quickly." Hermione opened her mouth to apologise and insist that no thanks were needed, when she felt his lips press softly against her cheek. A gasp caught in her throat and she knew her eyes must have widened considerably.

As he pulled away she felt the dreaded flush, yet this time it wasn't content to limit itself to her cheeks, but instead encompassed the entirety of her face and neck. She hadn't realised that she'd cursed it out loud until George let out a surprised laugh, a rich baritone that she hadn't expected from him.

"I like it," he said, brushing her cheek with one finger, "but I _do_ wonder how far it goes, you know."

Laughing once more at her expense, George shook his head and walked past her up the stairs.

Raising trembling fingers, Hermione gently touched the spot on her cheek where he had kissed her. _George_, she thought with a wondering shake of her head, _keep going like this and you might just find out_.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

**A/N: **Okay, this little oneshot has been a work in progress for just over a year now, believe it or not. In the very early days of 'rowan-greenleafs DG Forum' there was a discussion in the 'Character and Pairings' thread about why it is usually Fred that Hermione is partnered with romantically, not George. So, I decided to write a G/Hr. I kept losing my Muse for this fic, and have been writing the odd line and paragraph every so often for about a year. However! Today I was sat, flicking through my various WIP's, and got itchy fingers when I clicked on this one. And then, several hours later it ends up being my longest oneshot, I believe.

I have no idea if it is any good, I am a staunch D/G shipper, and have only written for that pairing within the HP Fandom, so if the characters are at all OOC, then do let me know. This is new territory for me and I would really appreciate feedback. I do not usually switch POV's either, and I am still unsure about the ending. However! Oh, and although it's probably quite obvious, I feel I should point out that this is Un-Beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

Well, I do hope you enjoyed it at the very least!

WishfulWhispers


End file.
